


Pelvic Floor Toning

by orphan_account



Series: yoi filth [8]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon, Cunnilingus, Kegels, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Riding, Vaginal Fingering, intersex omega, prayer circle for viktor's dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 15:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12171945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Yuuri + kegels: the journey of self-discovery.With a special appearance by Diktor Nikiforov.





	Pelvic Floor Toning

**Author's Note:**

> as with most things, this was born of alykapedia's and my screaming at each other about ... yuuri getting dicked down by viktor. in this particular case, within regency abo (which this is not) and ... you know what, I forget most of the context. just know that I told her a story about group kegelling during a drinking party, and then ... this pornbunny happened. 
> 
> thx to aly, spookyfoot & flammablehat for validating this insanity.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


1.

  
  
  


“Okay, everyone! Listen well: flexibility is important too!” Nakajima-sensei is saying earnestly.

Yuuri wonders if everyone in the classroom is dying from embarrassment the way he is inside. 

“Strength,” Nakajima-sensei continues, “ is of course, one of the main things — it’ll really help prevent incontinence after you give birth! But as with all muscles it’s important to maintain flexibility too.” 

Yuuri has never thought about his pelvic floor muscles being like his calf muscles, though he’s also never really thought about his pelvic floor muscles at all. 

This is quite possibly the worst thing about presenting, other than the traumatic episode itself. 

Sexual health textbooks say: “In the neuter-to-omega presentation, the penis is vestigial and remains analogous to the clitoris in child-bearing betas, while the ambiguous vulva develop fully into labia and the vaginal passage resolves, with the internal reproductive organs (i.e. the ovaries and uterus) maturing fully. Previously inert pheromonal glands activate as well, typically causing some discomfort.”

In reality, Yuuri had spent a week whimpering in bed, the pain of it stealing away any breath he may have had to scream. And that was nothing to say of the horror of seeing the body that he’d been used to and not paid much attention to for thirteen-and-a-half years change so viscerally, so — grotesquely. _Or_ the sickening awareness that he was now capable of bearing children. 

“Welcome to the club,” Nishigori’d said cheerily to him when Yuuri’d wobbled down the stairs into the family sitting room on the seventh day of his presentation, when he’d stopped feeling like his insides were going to fall out any moment and the red-hot throb between his legs had mostly faded into an insistent awareness. The first heat always hit soon after presentation. 

“Why are you here?” Yuuri, stripped of any ability to be polite, had asked. 

Under normal circumstances, Nishigori’d probably have done something terrible to Yuuri. All he said, though, pushing a mug of mugicha across the chabudai to Yuuri, was, “Solidarity, Yuuri. I thought I was going to be beta too, you know?” 

Yuuri ... hadn’t actually given it much thought, before. 

Well, he’s giving it thought _now_ , in this direly embarrassing sexual health class for the group of omegas who’ve presented in the last six months. 

Yuuri’s fairly certain that _everyone is kegelling at the same time_ , as Nakajima-sensei instructs them to clench (“like you’re holding your pee!”) and then let go (“breathe out firmly; relaxing is important too!”). Collective kegelling has got to be one of the weirdest omega experiences in the world. 

To his left, Nishigori looks constipated. 

“Breathe _out_!” Nakajima-sensei carols, sailing between their desks, waving her arms like she’s conducting an orchestra. 

To his right, the window looks out onto the parade grounds and the school gates. _Freedom_ , Yuuri thinks, breathing out and relaxing his pelvic floor muscles, and vows never to have children.

  
  
  


2.

  
  
  


The thing is, Yuuri has been conditioned to associate doing kegels with Nakajima-sensei’s voice in his head and Nishigori’s confused face. They’d tried explaining it to Yuuko, who’d got _the exact same constipated look as Nishigori’s_ on her face when she tried, before skating off into a double loop.

And so it is entirely reasonable that he has tried to put it out of his head as much as possible. 

He won’t have children, ergo he won’t have to deal with ... post-partum incontinence. Simple as that. 

Of course, what then happens is that one evening, when Yuuri is trying to skate away the crawling under his skin at the rink and concentrating on making his figures at neat as possible, the muscle memory of kegelling floats to the surface of his mind. 

_It’s exercise_ , he reasons to himself, and he had been feeling a little guilty about not doing something meant to be good for his body anyway. _It’ll be a challenge to do them during figures._

And it is, learning to use muscles Yuuri’s never really actively _thought_ about before; he tries contract and releasing in tandem with edge changes, timing them to each curve that he completes, falls over when he gets distracted. 

It’s Yuuri’s little secret, and never fails to make him smile.

  
  
  


3.

  
  
  


_SP: Orgia_ , 2009, Trophée Éric Bompard  
_Night time in Hasetsu_

Viktor’s cut his hair shorter — Yuuri wonders if he’s training his audience’s expectations for further cuts — it’s a Posh Spice bob now, with a crown of ivy pinned into his hair. He looks sleek, like a black panther — all feline grace prowling across the ice in an inky black bodycon suit, the corners of his glittering eyes smudged with shadows. The ululating, full-throated cry of the singer, the hauntingly beautiful call of pan-pipes, all bound up with a low thrumming buzz Yuuri feels in his chest and the frenzied, syncopated beats of a hide-bound drum — pull at Yuuri’s feet, make him want to dance his way into the orgiastic celebrations of the mad wild cult of Dionysus suggested by Viktor’s devilishly intricate footwork, his complex spins, his breathtakingly unexpected entries into jumps. 

The way the bottom of his stomach drops out is an old friend by now, as is the fizzing in his blood as he goes lightheaded the way he always does when he watches Viktor’s programmes. Gaping at this Viktor, the long-haired fey sprite that Yuuri’d first encountered is recognisable only in echoes: the phantom whip of his hair through the doughnut spin, the lift of his chin in an Ina Bauer, the cheeky tilt to his flirtatious smirk at the judges. 

Everything else is ... different. 

Suddenly very aware of how Viktor has filled out his lanky frame, the way his jaw has taken on new definition, Yuuri sucks in a deep breath and squirms against his sheets. Yuuri has always been aware, in the back of his mind, that Viktor is an alpha; that Yuuri is steadily if slowly working his way to skating on the same ice as Viktor; that ... Viktor is very, very attractive. That they _might_ meet one day, and — 

He feels a familiar heaviness between his legs, an itch that begs to be scratched, and experimentally squeezes when he notices the way he’s getting wet and his insides are fluttering, and — oh god, oh _god_. Orgia still on repeat on his laptop, Yuuri reaches out for a pillow to stuff between his legs and buries his face in another, and moans into it as he clenches all over, rutting his swollen cocklet into the fold of the pillow. This way, no one can hear the way he’s panting ‘Viktor, Viktor’ into the damp cotton of his pillowcase, the way he’s imagining that smirk pressed to his lips, his tingling chest, the - the slippery hot sensitive mess between his legs. The way that hair would feel on Yuuri’s trembling thighs. Yuuri wonders how the thick sheaf of it would feel between his legs. Ticklish, maybe, cool — a high sound rips its way out of the back of his throat, and Yuuri feels more liquid gushing out of him again, the hard clench of his ... down there. It feels good, so good — Yuuri wants more, even as he’s feeling tired and wrung out, and squeezes inwardly, even as he rolls onto his back, no longer caring of shame, and letting his thighs fall open. 

He wonders what would make it feel better, more intense, and startles to realise he’s been tracing his fingertips along his chest. Thinks about the giggles amongst his classmates, of things done in dark corners of the school. In the woods by the bay. _Fingering_ , Yuuri thinks to himself with an anticipatory shudder, sliding his hands down. Viktor has nice hands with long, elegant fingers. Always posed just so, reaching out, beckoning in. They’d feel so good wrapped around Yuuri, rubbing into the wet folds behind Yuuri’s cocklet, pushing — _pushing_ —

God, that feels so good. Viktor feels so, so good. 

Yuuri clenches experimentally around his fingers and tosses his head from side to side. More, more. He wriggles about, trying to find — _ah!_ — the best angle, before rolling over onto his knees, ass up, wrist braced against the bed so that he can squeeze and grind down onto his fingers at the same time, the soft canyon of the pillow under his hips getting increasingly slick around his cock. 

Gasping for breath, Yuuri looks up just as Viktor crosses back into a powerful jump, spins through the air and lands on a bent knee, one arm reaching out with a hand reaching out, fingers bent towards an upturned palm. Yuuri gets a flash of powerful, corded thighs spreading his own, those fingers crooked _in him_ , and then clenches hard and uncontrollably around the ones in him, the hot pleasure in his core sweeping up and out over him and bringing him trembling, wrecked, belly down onto his mattress.

  
  
  


4.

  
  
  


When Yuuri is eighteen, he reads an old copy of Cosmo in an American doctor’s office and finds out that he is not alone in the world when it comes to kegelling for pleasure. He finds out that regular exercise not only has positive health effects for the post-partum omega (and child-bearing beta), but that it ... will increase sexual pleasure. Make orgasms more. The article goes so far as to use the words “earth-shattering, for both you and your partner!”

“The great thing,” Cosmo tells Yuuri right before his annual check-up, “is that no one can tell when you’re doing it! Work multiple muscles at the same time and get worked up during your workout!” 

It would be a lie to say he didn’t have a specific person in mind when he deliberately tightens up insides while opening his hip abductors, breathing slowly through it the long contractions and relaxations. Or when he lies flat on his back and articulates his spine into a bridge, holding it there and squeezing both his glutes and his pubococcygeus muscle in ten second cycles. Thinking about it scientifically helps stave off the arousal, a little.

Yuuris been masturbating to one person for the last 3 years. They have a very good relationship. Yuuri thinks about him; Yuuri gets off. It’s very important that Yuuri gets the practice in.

  
  
  


5.

  
  
  


More intense orgasms mean shorter heats.

Yuuri tells himself this is why he’s bought the Inspire Remote Kegel Exerciser with his leftover prize money from one of the ISU Challenger competitions. 

There’s no one to tell him any differently, in any case, even if Phichit _does_ give Yuuri this unbearably knowing look when he catches a glimpse of its charging cord, trailing from Yuuri’s laptop to under Yuuri’s growing nest of pillows. 

He tries to get some reading done before his heat really hits, but the curling sensations whispering low in his belly and the way his soft cotton t-shirt feels like it’s scraping over his already swollen nipples are driving Yuuri to distraction, his attention drifting away from the pdf on screen to his own body, to the sensitivity of his skin, over and over again. 

Yuuri gets up and leaves his room at least five times, to get more water, to take a bath, to put his short flannel robe through the dryer so that it’s soft and warm on his skin, to pull another microfibre towel out of the linen closet, just in case. Phichit’s already started the scent-neutralising fans at the front door and outside his own (firmly shut) bedroom door going, the low hum of them making Yuuri flush, embarrassed by himself, by this whole situation. 

The trilling beep of the toy reaching full charge cuts through the daze that Yuuri’s fallen into, staring sightlessly at his laptop screen, and sends a thrill up and down his spine, makes him get wetter in anticipation. 

He’s been going about his daily business wet for the past week: getting his morning coffee to-go with dampness on his underwear; walking to class hyperware of the slick rubbing of his inner thighs; trying not to squirm or take off all his clothes for some _relief_ during lectures. Ciao Ciao’d banned him from practice on ice after the alphas on the hockey team had had the worst practice of their lives, the one time early in the week Yuuri’d gone for practice and skated perfect run-throughs, skin tingling all over from the weight of hungry eyes on him. 

“You’ll be sore enough, anyway,” Ciao Ciao’d told him, eyes sympathetic with years of long experience. “Get stretched out and load up on the protein, Yuuri.” 

So Yuuri has been valiantly feeding himself ahead of his heat, keeping his muscles nice and relaxed so that he doesn’t go into it sore, and doing his best not to turn into an exhibitionist. 

Now, though: he disconnects the toy, cleans it mechanically, weighs the egg-like bulb of it in his palm. 

It’s about three inches long, from where it starts sweeping out and up from the retrieval cord, to the cushioned, nubbly tip that’s going to feel _so good_ pressed up against Yuuri’s sweet spot, and at the thickest point about the width of three fingers around. 

Yuuri can’t wait to try it out — he _isn’t_ going to wait to try it out. 

He lets out a moan, confident in the white noise machine that Phichit always has on in his room, when he pushes the toy into himself, luxuriating in the slow stretch of his muscles around it, giving and giving around it as it thickens to its widest point. Yuuri leaves it there, like that, lodged half in him, the insistent press of it soft and snug against that nerve-rich inch, and spreads his legs even further, the soft hem of his robe tickling the insides of his thighs. 

Fumbling for the remote, Yuuri squeezes down at the same time he thumbs it on, and cries out in shock when the toy pulses to life, short sharp bursts that bring him to the brink almost immediately; he has one hand clenched around the remote and the other white knuckled in his own hair, the prickling of his scalp holding him back from the hot rush of ecstasy. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he hears himself pant, the breathiness of it almost unrecognisable, as he sinks even lower in the chair and thumbs through to the next setting, an escalating pattern of vibrations that makes hot pleasure burn up his groin to his belly, a flushing sensation washing through his whole body. Eyes closed, Yuuri fumbles down to push the buzzing toy fully into himself, breath hitching when it pops all the way in and he angles it forward so that it brushes up against his sweet spot immediately.

His cocklet is ruddy and sodden between his legs, darkening the parted leaves of his robe, and Yuuri sobs when he reaches down to rub at it, fingers still pressing the toy into place inside his cunt. It feels so good, too good, and his heat blossoms into full flowering as Yuuri shrieks through his first orgasm, body jack-knifing with the force of it. 

The insisting vibrations of the toy bring Yuuri with screaming speed back to awareness: awareness that he’s fallen out of his chair onto the carpeted floor; awareness that he’s still shaking around it, body trembling with pleasure as he lies curled on the floor. Even the rub of the low-piled carpet against his cheek is almost too much, the drag of it against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh both pain and bliss. 

It’s only when he’s managed to crawl onto his bed, falling only once onto his elbows and knees and aching for something bigger to fuck him as another orgasm floods through him while he gripped at his ass, his thighs, his trembling abs, cocklet dripping his desire onto the carpet, that Yuuri remembers what the _point_ of a kegel exerciser is. 

Turned into his nest of pillows, cushioned on all sides so that it feels like being held, Yuuri switches the toy back into pulsation mode and clenches down, thighs squeezed around the firmest bolster in his collection. He gasps, almost airless, and clenches again, and again and —

he thinks a lot about Viktor using this on him: 

Viktor, sitting across the room with the remote, now lost somewhere in his nest, playing Yuuri like a fiddle. Those ice-blue eyes looking at Yuuri, devouring, wanting, like a physical touch. Viktor’s fingers inside him alongside the toy, _stuffing_ Yuuri — 

who comes six times in two hours in a cascading rush of endorphins before switching it out for a knotting dildo, the smooth metal hard and unyielding against his well-trained muscles, and ascends promptly to a plane of untouchable ecstasy, floating like he’s in the onsen for what seems like an eternity. 

The heat breaks in four sodden, slippery, sensual days, and Yuuri feels almost sorry.

  
  
  


+1 

  
  
  


Kyushu. 2016. Summer.

Pre-heat. 

Yuuri, to his great shame, tends to start losing his inhibitions in the week before his heat really strikes. He’s been blessed with few other side-effects but this very socially awkward one. 

And Viktor being around has been making them dissolve faster; he’s been finding it harder and harder to remember just _why_ he shouldn’t be, well. Whatever it was. If it were bad his parents would stop him, the way they’d kept him home from school when Nishigori’d told them Yuuri’d been getting careless around the most popular alpha in high school, a soccer player with a wash of sandy hair, a comparatively inoffensive smell, and the tendency to give Yuuri game-winning balls. 

  
  


*

  
  


Viktor has in all his almost-twenty-eight years of living, never been subject to this sort of temptation.

He’s also never smelt anyone else good as Yuuri before, and in what must definitely be the early stages of his heat, Yuuri is going to be Viktor’s delicious downfall. 

Because Mari would probably kill him and throw him into the sea for the fish if he so much as lays a single finger on Yuuri when Yuuri can’t consent. She’s already been giving him and Yuuri looks if they sit next to each other at dinner, which — in all fairness, is how they’ve been sitting since _April_. 

It’s very hard in all sense of the word, though, when Viktor just keeps on inexplicably walking in on Yuuri in really compromising, provocative positions.

He’d opened the door to the family sitting room one innocent evening, only to find Yuuri laid out like a feast on the floor, hips raised in a bridge, one beautiful straight line from his knees to his shoulders with the fetching flush that’s been burning across the bridge of Yuuri’s darling nose for days now. His eyes are closed, his lashes long and thick against his pink cheeks, his equally pink mouth gaping open a little. Viktor stares for much longer than is appropriate, and tries not to breathe through his nose. Or his mouth. Or in general. Yuuri’s tights are very — tight. They — mould. Yuuri is not wearing underwear. Viktor flees. 

And so the next time he knocks on Yuuri’s door first, and only slides it open at Yuuri’s muffled assent, only to find Yuuri presenting his — no, _no_ : Yuuri’s in child's pose. He’s stretching his lower back, which makes sense, because he’d been working on his Ina Bauers and Biellmans. It’s just ... Viktor’d asked if he was decent. This is _not_ decent, not in Yuuri’s room, right next to Yuuri’s bed, which — which seems to have accumulated more pillows. His room smells strongly of Yuuri, which makes sense. It’s Yuuri’s room. 

“Viktor?” Yuuri’s asking, having gone into a frog stretch and is now looking over his shoulder. Viktor looks at the perfect diamond of his legs, the perfect roundness of his rump, and finds that he cannot remember what he wanted to ask Yuuri.

“Do you, um,” Viktor stalls. At least Yuuri’s wearing loose sweatpants tonight. “Need ... help ...?” 

“Oh!” And then the flush on Yuuri’s face intensifies, and Viktor swears his dizzying scent does too, but he doesn’t want to be projecting onto Yuuri. Yuuri admires him and dances his Eros, Viktor is fairly sure by now, _for_ Viktor — but, no. “That ... “ Yuuri sweeps his legs out of the frog and straight into a middle split. “That would be good. Could you please ...?” 

Viktor’s done this at least a hundred times by now, but for some reason this time, leaning his weight against Yuuri and listening to Yuuri groan into the stretch, he feels far too hot under his non-existent collar. 

He does his best to be good after that, and stays his distance from Yuuri. Viktor knows about alphas who use their presence and pheromones to trigger heats, to make omegas latch onto them, and would rather die than become one of them. 

But it is ... difficult, shall we say, when Yuuri is swinging his hips more than usual and sits closer to him in the onsen, where the rising steam holds his scent long after he’s gone with a long-lashed goodbye over his shoulder, and Viktor’s left willing his arousal away. 

And so Viktor is doing his best to be the best person he can be, sitting on his thumbs in his room and praying to a god he doesn’t really believe in for endurance, when he registers that:

  1. He is sitting on his thumbs whilst pressed up against the wall separating their rooms;
  2. There are faint whimpers coming from Yuuri’s room;
  3. No, those _are faint sobs_ ;
  4. He can smell the acrid tang of despair in Yuuri’s scent; and
  5. This is not to be stood for, especially if Yuuri has been looking at online skating forums again despite specific instructions not to.



And then Yuuri lets out a particularly broken sob, and before he knows what his body is doing, Viktor has flung open the sliding door to Yuuri’s room, feeling the strain around his eyes, and demanding, “WHAT HAPPENED WHO HURT YOU I'LL KILL THEM WHERE ARE THEY" in one wild breath. He’s distantly aware that this is not normal behaviour for him or any ... person.

Yuuri’s curled over his knees next to his bed, his back a heart-wrenching hunch, and Viktor clings to the doorframe for strength so that he does not stagger to his knees and turn onto his back, baring his belly in the most symbolic way he knows.

What happens next, of course, is that Yuuri turns his beautiful teary eyes up to Viktor and says, “I thought you ... my ... you didn’t like —”

It feels a little like he’s been stabbed through the gut with a rusty spoon. What follows, in quick succession, are waves of indignation, amusement, and just ... the desire to kiss those tears away.

  
  


*

  
  


“Oh,” says Viktor, and there’s a rush of — god, Yuuri’s whole body shudders and feels like it goes _soft_ — of warmly fond spice and cedar through the room. Yuuri’s whole person yearns towards Viktor, who’s still in the godsbedamned doorway for some reason. “Oh, _Yuuri_.” 

Yuuri hears himself make a sound, like a sob broken against the harsh shores of Viktor’s _distance_ , and he’s about to cast away all sense of dignity and hold his arms out to Viktor when Viktor finally, finally comes close. He falls, almost, to his knees before Yuuri, and all Yuuri wants to do is fall against _him_ , breath open-mouthed against the hollow of his neck and let his eyes fall closed.

Viktor puts the soft palm of his right hand against Yuuri’s cheek and thumbs away the wetness stinging his skin. 

This obviously brings on a fresh wave of tears, which Yuuri sputters embarrassed laughter through as Viktor frantically tries to wipe them away with his thumbs alone, before conceding to the necessity of tissues. His apologies are quite literally muffled by Viktor shoving tissue paper in his face and telling him not to be silly.

They end up just cuddling half-on-half-against Yuuri’s pile of pillows: Viktor propped up and sat in classical samurai drinking style; Yuuri curled sideways against Viktor’s chest, cradled by Viktor’s arms and leaning back against Viktor’s bent knee. This way, Yuuri can cling to Viktor, turn his burning face into the green cotton of Viktor’s beloved jinbei, worn soft by many washings, when Viktor passes his hand in long, loving strokes over Yuuri’s back, tells him:

“I like you, of course I do,” and — 

“You smell lovely,” and, laughing, —

“When I walked in on you stretching that night, _god_.” 

“Stupid Viktor,” Yuuri says thickly, blinking away the film of tears still sticking to his lashes.

Stupid Viktor does not immediately capitulate and promise to cherish and fuck Yuuri until their dying days. Instead, he huffs out another laugh. “No I just didn’t want to presume — you’re in heat and —

“I’m only _almost_ in heat,” Yuuri snaps, and then jerks away almost instinctively, recoiling in shame.

“Yes, exactly,” Viktor says, because he seriously has a problem with putting his foot in his mouth. 

Yuuri slaps at his chest. Viktor captures his hand and brings his knuckles apologetically to his lips. 

So unfair. He’s so unfair, Yuuri wails to himself. Viktor’s eyes alone, mournful and so, so infuriatingly blue, would drive anyone to distraction. 

“You’re not forgiven,” Yuuri tells him, daring, before hiding himself against Viktor again. 

“Oh no,” Viktor says, sounding very sincere. They haven’t kissed at all, but Yuuri doesn’t want their first to be — like this. “What can I do?” His eyes are dancing, though, when Yuuri unburies his face to look up at him. 

Biting down on his own smile, Yuuri says, “I don’t know. What _can_ you do?”

Viktor hums, and Yuuri can feel it buzzing in Viktor’s chest. He wants to know what other noises he can _feel_ through Viktor, and abruptly feels slick wetting his cunt. Oh, _oh_. The quality of Viktor’s hum goes deeper, and Yuuri knows. Knows Viktor must smell it, the way Yuuri’s getting slippery down below, heavy and fat with need.

“I think I can do this,” Viktor says in a register that Yuuri feels to his molten, melting core, and turns Yuuri’s captive hand palm up, teeth grazing at Yuuri’s knuckles, before kissing sweetly the meat of Yuuri’s palm. Every nerve in Yuuri’s body is alight with anticipation, and he _burns_ when Viktor presses a wet, sucking kiss filthy to where his pulse is beating hard, hot blood sending Yuuri’s scent floating. Viktor breathes in, deep, and his heartfelt groan makes Yuuri’s cunt pulse, makes the strength rush out of Yuuri so that he melts entirely into the curve of Viktor’s body. 

He slides a little down the bed, and Viktor slides with him, rolls them — with Yuuri’s hand still in his clasp — so that Yuuri’s bracketed underneath him, one arm stretched out to where they’re ... holding hands. Yuuri flushes harder. 

“Ah, _detka_ ,” Viktor breathes, and he sounds so — whatever it is, it makes Yuuri squirm and turn his face into his shoulder. “Oh, no, no, look at me, Yuuri, let me see your eyes.” 

His fingers on Yuuri’s jaw are gentle, irresistible.

“Aaaaaah,” Yuuri squeaks, and closes his eyes against the embarrassment. 

Viktor sighs out another laugh, before settling his weight onto Yuuri’s hips; the feeling of him — the, the hot bulge of him against Yuuri’s own hard cock makes Yuuri’s eyes fly open. 

“Yeah,” rumbles Viktor, looking smug and rolling his hips; Yuuri hitches in a shocked breath. “There you are.” 

Yuuri’d be angry about the manipulation, but the slow, hypnotic rub of Viktor’s hefty bulge against him, even through two layers of thin cotton, is making him tremble with need, making him soak through his pyjama bottoms and Viktor’s too, in record time, his legs having reflexively come up to wrap around Viktor’s lower back, his thighs. 

“God,” moans Viktor, pewter eyelashes fluttering, like Yuuri’s making him feel so good he can’t keep his eyelids open. It sends a rush of hot satisfaction through Yuuri, makes him feel sexy, powerful, and he lifts his hips in a grind back against Viktor. “Ah! God, _detka_ , you —” 

“Yes,” Yuuri whimpers, as Viktor’s thumb presses against the inside of his wrist, rubbing against the pleasure gland there. “ _Yes_ , please, Viktor, _please_.” 

Viktor buries his face in Yuuri’s neck, his pants hot and humid, as he groans again, before saying right into Yuuri’s ear, which may never be the same again: “What, what do you want, Yuuri?” 

“I —” everything that Yuuri has been dreaming of since he was sixteen stops up his throat. “Anything, please, just —” A bolt of clarity strikes him and he summons up the last of his coherence: “I want ... the first time, not during my heat.” 

Everything about Viktor stills, and he raises himself on his elbows to stare down at Yuuri, pupils completely blown out. “Not during — so ... right now?” 

He sounds fantastically lost, and that makes Yuuri pause. It is true, no matter how much it tears with its thorns at Yuuri’s chest, that Yuuri has wanted Viktor far longer than Viktor has wanted him. 

“No,” Yuuri assures him. “Not...not if you don’t want to.” 

“No!” Viktor’s loud, eyes regaining some of the wildness they held when he first banged into Yuuri’s room. “No, I want to, it’s just ... this is ... sudden?” 

Not for Yuuri, it isn’t. Well, this specific circumstance: yes. But the idea of fucking Viktor ... 

Something must show on Yuuri’s face, because Viktor ducks down and then — and then there are lips against Yuuri’s own, and a tongue in his mouth and oh, Viktor is kissing him. Oh, Viktor is licking along the sensitive roof of Yuuri’s mouth, sucking on Yuuri’s bottom lip, fucking into Yuuri’s mouth with his tongue like — Yuuri loses track. 

“I want to fuck you,” Viktor tells him, voice hoarse. “Oh god, Yuuri, you must know — I want to make love to you.” 

Yuuri whines and wraps his arms around Viktor’s neck to pull him in, so that Yuuri doesn’t have to look at _his stupid face_. 

“Okay,” Yuuri says, wobbly, into the side of Viktor’s jaw, feeling the utter inadequacy of his words. “Yes. I — me too.” He’ll take whatever Viktor allows him. 

“ _Detka_ ,” Viktor murmurs, nudging at Yuuri with his chin so that they can kiss again. “Let me ... let me make you feel good tonight, all right? Tomorrow, you can ... whatever you want.”

“Tomorrow?” Yuuri echoes, a little lost, a little distracted by the way Viktor’s now nibbling at the thin skin over the apple of his throat. 

“Mmmm,” Viktor says, pushing Yuuri’s t-shirt up so he can continue his biting way down Yuuri’s sternum, thumb at Yuuri’s heavy, sensitive nipples. Just the brush of Viktor’s thumbs over them makes Yuuri moan, toss his head, gets an interested sound from Viktor before he’s latching on, all tongues and teeth and making Yuuri throb deep inside, making his cock pulse more clear come. “Ah, god, _kotyenok_ , you like that, don’t you?”

Almost as much as Yuuri likes the Russian pet-names rolling off Viktor’s tongue. Maybe - _ah_ \- more; Viktor’s taken the nub of his nipple between his teeth and is tugging gently, fingers massaging at the flesh of Yuuri’s pec, like he’s ... he’s trying to stimulate Yuuri. Not yet, not yet, not before he’s in heat; but it sends shudders up and down Yuuri’s spine, makes his insides clench hard, his thighs squeeze Viktor closer. 

“I can’t wait,” Viktor growls, and then lets Yuuri go, continues his blazing trail down Yuuri’s chest, his abdomen, pushes Yuuri’s sodden, clinging bottoms down to his knees and sucks a bruise into the join of Yuuri’s hip and thigh: it’s so, so achingly close to where Yuuri’s bonding mark should go, and Yuuri knows his musk is thick, rising, entrapping. Trying to lead Viktor’s teeth to the soft inside of Yuuri’s thigh, right underneath the crease between his thigh and cunt. 

Viktor puts his mouth on Yuuri’s cunt, licks in and up, and Yuuri — screams. It punches out of his belly, makes him jerk up and his hand fly to his mouth, at the way pleasure explodes like a supernova along his nerves. And then Viktor wraps fingers around Yuuri’s cock and starts a methodical, slow swiping of his thumb over the head of it, the faint calluses on his finger catching against the tender wetness there; all in time with the way he’s lapping at Yuuri, his tongue pressing into the give of Yuuri’s walls and flicking wickedly up and out, over and over and over. 

It’s — so much, too much, and endless: Yuuri’s held down by the overwhelming pleasure of it, by the quaking of his belly, of his limbs, his heels drumming away at the small of Viktor’s back, plucking sensation sweeping in tides over and through him, building, until with a gasp, with Viktor’s deep moan thrumming right into his cunt, Yuuri gasps his thrashing way through orgasm after orgasm, vision going black.

He comes to empty and wanting, and thinks for a minute that his heat has arrived. But, no: he isn’t overheated, and his skin isn’t crawling with that need to be touched. 

Viktor’s still got him bracketed in, which is why Yuuri’s so warm, but that’s it. 

Viktor’s cock is still heavy and full between them, and Yuuri wonders what he wants to do. 

“Viktor,” he says quietly, and traces his fingers along Viktor’s profile, brow to cheekbone to chin. “What about you?”

“Ah,” Viktor sighs, and turns his face to kiss Yuuri’s palm. Nuzzle into it as his hips move minutely against the wet mess of Yuuri’s groin. “Can I —” he breaks off to laugh a bit, and it makes Yuuri frown. 

“Viktor —” he starts, and is cut off, breath stolen away, when Viktor says:

“Can I come on you?”

He moans his assent more than anything else, and raises himself on an elbow when Viktor rears up to kneel over Yuuri; if Yuuri curled up enough, he could get his mouth on Viktor. His mouth waters, hangs open, and he looks up through his lashes at Viktor.

“ _Blyad_ ,” Viktor spits out, hand speeding up on his cock, the other clenched in the sheets next to Yuuri’s head. Yuuri crooks an arm up so he can hold Viktor by the wrist and thumb at _his_ pleasure gland there, bask in the sudden cloud of musky arousal bursting in his face. “Yuuri, _detka_ ,” Viktor groans, brows furrowing, and comes with a hot splash over Yuuri’s sternum, neck, jaw; some of the hot come lands on Yuuri’s waiting tongue, thick and bitter. 

“Jesus,” Viktor mutters, and meets Yuuri’s hungry gaze as he pushes his softening cock into Yuuri’s mouth, lets Yuuri suckle him through the rest of his orgasm, lets Yuuri tongue at his slit and taste the last weak pulses of come that Viktor has to give. “Yuuri, Yuuri, ah, _ah_. Off, please.” 

With a reluctant kiss to the thick head of Viktor’s cock (Yuuri can’t wait to know how it feels inside him), Yuuri pulls off. 

“You’re going to kill me,” Viktor says against Yuuri’s lips, licking the taste of himself out of Yuuri’s mouth. They’re both slick with sweat and come, but Yuuri doesn’t want to move out of the circle of Viktor’s arms. “Mmmm, god.” 

“Don’t want to move,” Yuuri tells Viktor, punctuating his declaration with a leg slung over Viktor’s hip. 

“Okay,” Viktor agrees sleepily. “Tomorrow.” 

  
  


*

  
  


Tomorrow arrives with torrential rains, so that the morning light is grey and winter-like when Viktor wakes up with a heavy weight on his chest. It is the _best_ weight he could ever have on his chest, and also the stickiest. 

He drags a finger down the dip of Yuuri’s spine as far as he can reach, and back up again. 

“Mmmmf,” grumbles Yuuri. His eyelashes brush against Viktor’s skin as he blinks into wakefulness, and he gives Viktor a baleful look when Viktor chirps an _ohayouuuuuu_ at him. “Water. Teeth. Mmmf.” 

Viktor watches, entertained, as Yuuri levers himself off Viktor; it seems that Yuuri was reminding himself of what to do as he follows this order exactly: he reaches for the mug on the windowsill and gulps it down; a drop of water escapes his lips and trickles down his throat, clinging to the fine hairs there. 

Before Yuuri can get to the teeth step, but after he puts his mug back down, Viktor surges up to lick away the droplet from Yuuri’s throat, and then to lick the surprised noise out of Yuuri’s mouth. 

Yuuri’s eyes have widened, like he’s surprised at Viktor’s very presence. The dizzying drop of Viktor’s stomach is arrested only by the way Yuuri’s eyes go hooded and Yuuri kisses back, and then knocks Viktor over and climbs atop him.

“It’s tomorrow,” Yuuri says, voice less thick with sleep now, and much more smug.

“Ah,” Viktor says. “Yes?” 

“Mmm.” Yuuri settles the warm heat between his legs over Viktor’s morning wood and _rubs_ , his eyes drifting shut. “You promised. Whatever I wanted.”

“I...” Viktor’s voice seems to have stuck in the back of his throat. “I did.”

“I want to ride you,” Yuuri breathes dreamily, already so hot and slick on Viktor’s cock, as he slides along the length of it, shifts so that it’s nestled between his folds, head tapping against the base of Yuuri’s own cocklet. Viktor’s so turned on he can feel it all over, from his fingertips to his heavy balls to his toes. “God, Viktor.” 

Then he blinks and his eyes pierce right into Viktor’s heart. “I’m on —” he waves a hand negligently at a barely discernible lump on his upper arm. “Fertility inhibitors.” 

Viktor hadn’t really been thinking, but now — oh god, Yuuri wants to — he groans and his hips buck up against Yuuri, the head of his cock catching against Yuuri and making them both gasp.

“Yes,” Yuuri chants, rising up on his knees and reaching underneath to hold Viktor in place. “Yes, yes, _yessssssssss,_ ” he hisses out as he sinks down, and it’s: the hot, smooth clutch of him, the way Viktor can feel the soft, pulsating press of his insides, the way Yuuri’s so fucking wet he slides down Viktor’s cock like a dream, the — 

Viktor moans, and doesn’t stop moaning or gasping, as Yuuri starts rocking and squeezing around him from the inside, whimpers and mewls that hook right into Viktor’s gut falling from his lips; Viktor can’t look away, not from Yuuri’s burgundy eyes hazy with pleasure, his chest bowed out as he arches back to support himself with hands on Viktor’s knees, and his pretty pink nipples pebbled in the cool stormy morning air, ready to glisten with heat milk, ready for Viktor’s mouth.

The thought of it makes Viktor bend his knees, dig his feet into the mattress, and thrust _up_ into Yuuri, who shrieks a little, and then — oh god, Viktor’s going to die — giggles a little, eyes mischievous on Viktor’s, before doing _something_ with his pelvic muscles, rippling like a wave around Viktor, like getting world’s hottest, most pleasurable massage, and wrenching Viktor’s control out of his tenuous grasp so that he comes like a fucking shot, hot and hard and gasping like an idiot, every now-unsteady contraction of Yuuri around him squeezing more, more —

Yuuri’s moaning it, head tossed back in abandon, in Japanese: “ _Motto, motto,_ ” and Viktor does his best, lets Yuuri milk him until he’s empty, until it _hurts_. 

“ _Detka_ ,” Viktor rasps out, running his hands up and down Yuuri’s burning flank — wait, burning? “Oh lord, Yuuri, your heat —” 

Yuuri flops down, Viktor’s cock slipping out of him. “I feel —”

“Yeah, I know, come on.” Viktor rubs at Yuuri’s cunt, unable to help it, thrilling at the way Yuuri moans a little and shivers, at the cloudy mix of their come dribbling out of him. “Let’s get you cleaned up before it really hits.” 

“Mmm,” Yuuri shakes his head. “Sleep.” 

“Water,” Viktor reminds him, feeling unspeakably fond. “Teeth.” 

“Cock,” Yuuri says unexpectedly. “Your ...” 

“Okay!” Viktor interrupts, sitting up and pulling Yuuri up with him, holding the half-full mug to Yuuri’s lips. “Drink, Yuuri, please.” 

He manages to manoeuvre Yuuri into a yukata, into the family shower on the thankfully empty second floor, into brushing his teeth, back into the yukata, and back into Yuuri’s room and the nest of pillows that Yuuri dives face-first into. 

“You’re laughing at me,” Yuuri complains, muffled. 

Viktor sits on the bed and cards his fingers through Yuuri’s damp hair. His own hair is dripping a little uncomfortably down the back of his neck, but this seems more important. 

“It’s because you’re so cute,” Viktor says, and bends to kiss the nape of Yuuri’s neck.

Yuuri wriggles under him, and then turns so that he’s looking at Viktor with one shy eye, the curve of his face squashed into the soft pillow. Shyly, he asks, “Did you like it?” 

“Like ... it?” Viktor says blankly. “Yuuri, it was ...yes, I loved it. You were so good.” An understatement, but his usual facility with words has deserted him. Yuuri fucked it out of him. 

Yuuri’s one visible eye squints with displeasure. “No, I mean...” He wiggles again. “When I, um. At the end?”

Just the _words_ alone pluck at Viktor’s nerves, make his cock twitch. “Yes, darling,” he says, and is unsurprised to hear the way his voice has deepened. “I liked it. Very much.” 

“Ah,” Yuuri yawns around his words. His skin is rising in temperature; Viktor needs to go get cooling cloths soon. _From Yuuri’s mother, god_. He’s distracted from his imminent doom when Yuuri continues, slurring: “Goo-oo-oood. I pra-a-ctised. Mmmm. Yea-rs.” 

The first three responses that come to mind are entirely inappropriate for a sleepy Yuuri who needs his rest, and the next two too possessive for something this new. So Viktor swallows down the hot, confused rise of emotions in his chest, and smooths his hand over Yuuri’s back. 

“ _Yuuri_ , god. Thank you,” he says, the only words he can think of, and kisses Yuuri’s neck again. “Thank you so much, _detka_.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> the subtitle for the +1 section was "kegels !!! on diktor". [this](https://www.goodvibes.com/s/sex-toys/p/GV14608/cal-exotics/inspire-remote-kegel-exerciser) is the toy/exerciser that yuuri uses.
> 
> if you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a kudos and/or [reblogging from here](https://forochel.tumblr.com/post/165669651202/pelvic-floor-toning-forochel-yuri-on-ice)! thanks <3
> 
>  **ETA:** uM OK SO MY COMMENTERS ARE THE B E S T EVER AND HAVE COLLECTIVELY WRITTEN... A SEQUEL??? idk i'm dead it's so hot read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/127444854).
> 
>  **ETA2:** uhhh so i've also comment!ficced [here](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/127590558), [here](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/127588503), [here](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/127588818), aaand [here](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/127425858). idk it's been inspiring chats mates thx so much top bants &c &c <3
> 
>  **ETA3:** ohmyGOD [THERE'S FANART](https://umaahon.tumblr.com/post/165830182283/forochel-ao3-came-out-with-this-thing-ao3-and) by applecheeked im dead (nsfw).


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